Requiem
by Miss Maia
Summary: She wasn't ready; they couldn't do it right now. Katniss swallowed her fears and the pill, hoping that all would be over soon.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Hunger Games trilogy; _this is just an attempt at fun by playing with someone else's toys.

**Summary: **_She wasn't ready; they couldn't do it right now. Katniss swallowed her fears and the pill, hoping that all would be over soon. _

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**Requiem**

They weren't ready; _she_ wasn't ready.

It was the most rational thing to do; the most responsible decision to make. She was being an adult; a mature woman making a tough, yet right, decision.

If she had all the right reasonable excuses, why was she hesitating?

Katniss tightened her grip around the water glass, stopping it halfway to her mouth. She rested the cup on the nightstand again, next to the empty tablet packaging. The yellow pill was between her index finger and thumb, and she would have crushed it with her fingers if it wasn't made of an elastic gel. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Five years was still too soon; too soon to take this enormous step. She and Peeta were still discovering how they would manage to have a normal life after all that happened to them only five years ago. Her mother was in District Four, with no intention to return. Peeta still grieved his family; she could see it in his eyes sometimes when he baked. Baking was something very connected to his family, so it'd be normal for him to remember them while doing it. And how, how would they make it in this reality?

How would she raise a child in this colorless daily activity that was her life?

She wasn't ready.

Peeta knew; she had told him. Katniss didn't know the reason why she felt the necessity to communicate him. It was like she needed his consent; no, not his consent. His acknowledgement. She always knew he wouldn't have a saying in this; it was her, and only her decision. It would be a burden over _her_ slim shoulders, shoulders already bended with the weight of countless lives. One more wouldn't make a difference, or so she kept repeating to herself.

She had told him a week before, with a steady voice that betrayed her anguished heart. She had know for some days, lonely dealing with the information until she came with the decision. He had made his best effort to conceal his emotions. But she already knew him better; the sudden glint in his blue gaze, the slightest curl of one side of his lips, the way he avoided her eyes and studied her body. He wanted it. He was happy, he was relieved, he was... wrong. He had no idea of what he desired. A child in such a post-revolution scenario? What if the old regime rose a year from now? What if Snow had connections just waiting for the right moment to strike? What if the rebels turned out to be a worse government than the previous one? What if they couldn't give a normal life to this child? What if... what if it ended up with a life like theirs?

As much as she knew Peeta, he also knew her. He knew she was dying inside; she was terrified. So he didn't say anything. He nodded. He agreed; he gave his consent even if she didn't need it.

"Do you want to know my opinion?" he asked quietly, resting the bread bag he had brought from the bakery on the coffee-table. His eyes were already masked with faked indifference when he sat at her side on the living room couch.

"No," she didn't meet his eyes to answer; she was being honest. His opinion wouldn't change her decision. Her selfishness was bigger than that.

"Right," there was that small, almost imperceptive, hint of hurt in his voice, but Katniss blinded herself to it. "It's your body, Katniss, your decision."

Katniss swallowed dryly as that scene replayed in her mind. She lightly tapped the glass with her nail, listening to the high pitched sound that echoed in her bedroom. Peeta was respecting her, respecting her limitations. She couldn't do it; not now. They had messed up; they were careless. She was taking the pills, and she knew they were not a hundred percent accurate. They used condoms; well, most of the times. And, in one of those careless times, the infinitesimal chance of disgrace laughed in her face. She couldn't believe it; she thought she was sick, depressed. And then her period stopped.

_"Miss Everdeen?"_

She had answered the phone with an anxiety growing in her stomach. She knew it would be the clinic calling, with her blood test results. Honestly, she was afraid she would have a rare disease developed because of her early stress in life. But nothing could have prepared her for what she was about to listen. _"Doctor Powell will be on the line in a minute." _The minute she waited beside that phone was surprisingly long, considering the doubts increasing in her.

_"Miss Everdeen?"_ came the solemn voice from Dr. Powell asking from the other side of the line _"I have your test results. You are completely healthy."_

"Thank you, Doctor." she said, in a calm voice that disguised her internal relief. She was about to put the phone down when he spoke again.

_"But we have some further information."_

She couldn't place his tone, an almost hidden excitement in his voice. _"I suppose you are taking the birth control pills I prescribed__you, is that correct?"_

"Of course," she answered nonchalantly, doing her best to hide the accelerating rate of her heart. What does that have to do with her period being completely inaccurate? It was like her mind was intentionally blinding her.

_"And you are following the specific recommendations I said?"_

"Yes."

_"Miss Everdeen..."_ he paused, and her knuckles were white from the effort of holding the phone. _"I believe I told you that the method you are using is not a hundred percent accurate. I also remember your refusal to going to the Capitol to take the exam for the newest method, one that is specifically applied for each patient."_

Yes, she refused to go to the Capitol. She didn't want to touch that ground again. But what was he saying, was he implying that –

_"Miss Everdeen..."_ she was ready to punch him if he repeated "Miss Everdeen" one more time. _"You're pregnant."_

Of course she had denied; she had done the test again, and again, unable to face it. But it was there; it was true. She spent at least two hours talking to Dr. Powell about her possibilities. Peeta asked, but she invented any excuse for the reason why she had spent the entire day at the clinic.

Basically, she had two options: keep the baby, which was ruled out by her at the beginning, or she could terminate the pregnancy. Adoption was illegal in District Twelve, because the Justice Building's legal services were still being transferred to new systems. It could be legal someday, but bureaucracy got in the middle of it. Any orphans would be given to the care of the State, the government. And Katniss thought that it was worse than death itself. So, at that moment, she knew she had no other choice. She couldn't raise a child, so abortion was the reasonable answer. She didn't even blink as the Doctor handed her the prescription, and folded the paper neatly on her purse.

She walked away the clinic and back home, expressionless. Katniss entered in her silent house; Peeta wasn't there. When he got home that day, he found her locked in their dark closet. He didn't inquire, supposing she was having one of her usual crises, and held her tight until she fell asleep. He could never imagine what was really going on.

She had called the Capitol the next day, to the same pharmacy company she used to order their normal supply of medications. She listed to the usual information that the conversation would be recorded and noted down her protocol number. After a minute of an almost annoying music playing on her ears, a jovial voice greeted her.

"I'd like to ask for an anonymous request." Katniss knew that this should be a secret for an infinite number of reasons.

_"Of course, Mrs. Any of the information shared here will be recorded only in the company's database,"_ the young voice answered her, and Katniss couldn't help picturing a blue haired girl, with green skin, and a huge dragoon tattoo. And maybe piercings. _"Which District?"_

"Twelve. Doctor Powell."

_"Please tell me the number of the order."_

"012-455-024," Katniss read the unfolded paper from her purse. She listed to the sound of the girl typing on her computer, checking the information. In that moment her name and the specific drug she was ordering would appear in the screen in front of the girl. She heard her trying to disguise a small gasp.

_"I..."_ the voice faltered, and the young girl forced her professionalism to show and cleared her throat. She knew she was talking to Katniss Everdeen; and knew she was ordering an abortion drug_. "I would like to remind you that this information is confidential." _

"I appreciate that." Katniss was happy to know that the attendant couldn't see her gritted teeth.

"_We already have your address in our database. You can wait a week for your order. The mode of payment will be bank transfer, as the other times?"_

"Yes." She just wanted to hang up.

_"Thank you for calling. Capitol Pharmacies wish you an excellent day."_

She had hung up before the girl could finish the phrase. It was another night in the closet.

The package came five days after her phone call, and Katniss wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. She had made her decision, but was afraid to actually deal with it. By that time, Peeta was still clueless. But she talked to him the day after the pill had come, seven days ago.

Katniss cleared her throat and massaged her temple. Just taking this pill, this pill right in front of her, would suffocate all the mischievous thoughts flooding her mind. It was done; taking the pill was just the last step to take to stop all this. She didn't have much time to delay, because there was a time for that. After the twelfth week, this specific pill would be useless, and she would have to pass through another embarrassing call to the Capitol. This was the time; this was the moment.

She could feel her heart beating at the tip of her fingers as she pinched the pill between them again; it was cold, the same temperature of her unheated bedroom in the early winter. The house was quiet; the room was silent. It smelled like death. The same smell from the tube that lead her to both Games; the same smell of Peeta's hand as he strangled her in Thirteen; the same smell of the Capitol's square as her sister burned to death. She hated that smell.

Katniss placed the pill at the back of her tongue; the cool sensation strange in her warm and dry mouth. Her hand was shaking as she took her fingers out her mouth, reaching for the glass of water. One drop ran on her chin as she touched the cold hard surface of the glass on her lips, slipping to her collar and making her shiver even more. One gulp; two. She forced the pill down, feeling it scratching the side of her esophagus, as if her body was denying it, fighting to expel it; as if... if her child knew it was being murdered.

She placed the glass back on the wooden nightstand, using the back of her hand to clean her wet lips. It was done.

At first she thought it was a cough, a gag reflex or a sneeze. But it came out as an uncontrolled, wild, sequence of sobs, from the depths of her soul. She hadn't cried for any of this since she had known the truth; she didn't allow herself the humanity of feeling guilt or pity. She didn't think she deserved that; she never did. But it consumed, overtook her reason as the tears flowed in an overwhelming sensation of pain and sorrow. The sobs rocked her body so strongly she fell on the floor, kneeling next to her bed and suppressing a yell that soon would fill the room.

She couldn't hide it from herself; couldn't deny her sensible part. Some cries you couldn't run from, even if you knew it would happen. Like Rue; she knew Rue was going to die from the moment she saw her tiny, innocent face in the Training Room. Katniss knew, that if she wanted to survive, that little girl would have to be murdered by cold hands, in front of thousands of eager people on live television. She knew that; of course she did. But it didn't help with her falling apart when it happened, crying her eyes out and almost losing her sanity.

It was the same here. She knew this was going to happen; she knew she was not ready to be a mother. But still... it hurt, hurt in a way she wasn't prepared to, making her feel actually physical pain as she contracted on the floor, drooling on the wood, snot spilling down on her mouth, and tears everywhere. The once quiet room was filled by the sound of a dying creature, a suffering spirit and a desolated mother. Katniss couldn't think straight anymore and gave up to the tears, letting her sobs guide her breathing, closing her eyes and wanting nothing more than the same fate she had given the living being in her womb. The sensation of hollowness almost suppressed the pain. Almost.

She didn't know for how long she lay there, curled up into a damp ball of sadness and fear. Her rational side had abandoned her long ago, letting her deal with the consequences with just her immature and unprepared emotions. She didn't listen to the front door opening, nor the heavy steps on the stairs. He entered the room almost without a sound, following the now quieter sobs coming from the bedroom he shared with Katniss. Peeta saw her form on the floor, at the other side of the bed; strangely, he didn't rush to help her. Part of him knew. Still without saying a word, he walked around the bed and stood at her side, her body still curled on the floor. She didn't look up at him; she couldn't. The steady sounds of her soundly breathing mixed with the metallic noise of the tablet packaging as Peeta read the information on it. The packaging was empty. He looked at the nightstand, to the glass of water. It was also empty.

Peeta kneeled and, in a single and careful movement, picked Katniss up and placed her on the bed, still not meeting her eyes. With stiffer movements, he headed for the door, but a shaking small hand grabbed his knee.

"Stay. Please, stay." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but fully audible in the now dead silent room.

"I need..." He shut his eyes hard, unable to look down at her. "I need a moment."

Katniss knew he was fighting to keep his voice strong; and the way she watched his hand quivering, how he was insisting in not looking at her, she knew he was fighting for more than that: he was fighting for his sanity.

"I'll be back when... when I can." He forced himself out of the room. "Lock the door."

Katniss bit her lip at his request, and a strange feeling of calmness passed momentarily through her. That was another reason why they were not ready to have a child; they barely could take care of themselves, how would they take care of a helpless baby?

She obeyed him and locked the door, knowing he asked this for her own safety. She heard while he stumbled to descent the stairs, and jolted hearing the thud of his body falling in the hallway. She knew he muffled the first scream with his hand before he entered a room, desperate to be as far away from her as possible. Katniss leaned her head on the door and let the tears run free again as the quietude of their house was disturbed by Peeta's screams and shouts while he was having an episode. The walls shook at each punch he gave on them, and it was followed by his reply of pain.

The only thing that could help him in those moments was the reason why he was having an attack after all: herself. More than once Peeta hurt her while she tried to hold him down, just to get close enough to whisper in his ears. At the sound of her voice he'd calm down; he'd be himself again. He felt miserable after the episodes, seeing the red marks on her arms or face. From the past year he was always running from her, not wanting to be close as he trashed in a forgotten room. But she was Katniss Everdeen, one of the most stubborn women in Panem. She'd find him anywhere and make him come back. Always. She always made him come back.

But not now; he'd trash and scream and hurt himself the entire night, but she wouldn't move a finger. Because, after five years living together, he was having an attack not because of some altered memory implanted by the Capitol; he was having an attack because of one of her real moods. Peeta did not hate the morphed image of Katniss that was forced into his mind. He hated the real Katniss.

It didn't last long. An hour later he opened the door, and she blinked when he turned the lights on. She was in a fetal position on the bed, on top of the blankets, shaking in the winter cold. She turned to him and gasped, seeing his state.

"I'm fine," he said, before she could elaborate a question. His face was deep red and he had a cut on his swollen lips. He was shirtless, and there was a purple mark, stretching from one side of his torso to the other, matching the Frankenstein appearance his scars gave him. But it wasn't the worst; his hands were covered in blood and there were pieces of glass jammed in them. "I'm fine," he repeated, sitting on the bed. Katniss swallowed her new tears and rushed for their closet, where she found a first-aid kit. She sat by his side, silent tears still shining on her pale cheeks. He didn't complain as she used a towel and saline water to clean his wounds, a pair of tweezers to take off the pieces of glass and clean bandages to wrap them up. At her request, he opened and closed his hands, and she was relieved to see that no bones were broken. Katniss had learned how to perform these small procedures after years of Peeta's episodes.

How could they take care of a child like this?

After attending to his most visible wounds, she laid him on the bed, using the blankets to cover his shaking body. She lay beside him, and he hugged her close under the blankets.

They cried in silence. It was hard to tell who was the one that most needed assistance.

"Will you..." Peeta's voice was hoarse, muffled under the sheets. But his mouth was so close to her ears that she could hear him perfectly. "Will you ever want it? In the future?"

Katniss was listening to his heart beat increasing at each second she delayed to answer.

"I don't know." She was being honest with him. She felt the rise and fall of his chest as he acknowledged what her vague answer could mean.

"I love you. Please say you believe me," he said after a pause, and she couldn't suppress a fresh new tear.

"I do. Do you believe that I love you?"

"I do."

She felt him nod above her head, her cheek pressed on his bare chest.

They weren't ready for a child, but they were finally learning to be ready to love.

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**Author's Note: **Abortion is a polemic subject and I'm not defending any point of view here; all the expressions used in this story were only for the purpose of literature. Each country and state has its own law and rules, and I formally respect this authority. Here is not the place to incite a political discussion and this was not my intention with this story.

Special thanks to the betareader: **Hobbit4Lyfe.**


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